


Byleth's Nightcap

by Emeka



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Accidental Urine Drinking, Incest, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sexual Assault, a tag for the ages, byleth being around fifteen in this fyi, sexually aggressive minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-25 05:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20371438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: Byleth knows it's wrong to love his father so much. It won't stop him anyway.





	Byleth's Nightcap

Byleth slips inside the tent without hesitation, as if it’s a place he belongs. And doesn’t he? He is Jeralt’s son, and for the first time in a long time, his father has drunk himself to the point of complete incapacitation. No one would think it strange that he’d feel the need to make sure he hasn’t choked on his own vomit during the night.

If he sat outside and twiddled his fingers... _that_ would look strange. He had up until he decided to walk here to think it over. Now’s the time to act.

Still, he can’t help an inner feeling of trepidation when he enters the tent, crouched low on his knees. His father has finely-honed reflexes from the line of work they’re in, and even intoxicated, he’s quick to react. It’s good for Byleth in this situation, but it still makes him uneasy, even though they’re not expecting any trouble at the moment. You never know.

With a shake of the head, he carefully crawls up the bearlike mountain snoring in the middle. The stink of alcohol makes his head spin, but there’s something more familiar to him beneath, something that makes his stomach quiver. The smell of his father’s sweat and musk. How often has he smelled during their training sessions, and fought hard not to lose his focus? It’s even better than the more muted, soapy smell of him just-washed and clean.

He stops and peers over at his father’s ruddy face. His hands itch with the impulse to smooth his hair down. Is that booze still gleaming on his lips, and in little drops on his beard? If he could suck it off him he might actually like the taste... but that’s a little more risky than what he intends. Well, it probably isn’t, considering what he _does_ have planned, but the face seems too intimate. Surely even in this stage, his father would wake up from being touched here. He turns away wistfully. 

Instead he grabs the edge of the blanket that had been hastily thrown over him and pulls it up to gather around his torso. A few years later and he might know that such a large amount of alcohol is typically counterproductive for erections, but he’d have grown through with it anyway. He’d been pondering and wondering it so long there’s just no choice anymore. But right now, where he is, there is a blind, innocent belief that from here things will work out. Of course his father will get hard for him.

Even soft, his cock bulges against his breeches. Byleth’s had peeks, mostly in the bath, when not just glimpses up his tunic, but this is the first time he’s had the opportunity to study it. It looks like a fat pipe travelling down his left thigh, with an apple-sized bunch of the groin he assumes are his balls. The poor things must be aching stuffed inside all day and night.

He won’t kid himself, call anything that he’s doing out of concern. The truth is that he’s loved his father like this for as long as he can remember and this horrible thing he’s about to do is an assault on his person. Every fatherly kiss, every touch and embrace, has felt burning hot on his skin. Reaching puberty filled his head not with girls or other men, but instead expanded the scope of his desires from the childish things he used to be content with. What he wants now is...

His fingers tremble despite himself as he starts unlacing. The thought that he’s doing a bad thing does not necessarily bother him, but that his father might wake up and hate him for it does.

But the skin feels so warm against his knuckles... and when he actually pulls it out (oh so slow and careful that it seems like it will never end) he has to take a moment to catch his breath. This is the dick that helped bring him into existence and it is the most amazing sight he has taken in in his entire life of travel. The foreskin is a little saggy over a pronounced head, and veins pulse out over the surface. He can’t imagine what it’d feel like inside him, if he ever dared to go that far. He’d have to feel every single minutiae of texture.

This is all he’ll likely ever be able to do to satisfy himself, and maybe only this once. It’s a memory he’ll treasure forever.

He slides the skin back until the pinker, more sensitive-looking tip shows. Even on a man as manly as his father, it looks velvety. Soft. He swipes his tongue against it, in one quick furtive moment, and feels immediately electrified. It doesn’t ‘taste’ good, not exactly, but the sensation is a pleasant one. He applies light suction with his lips around before the swell of the corona, and suckles like a baby. His other hand keeps stroking up and down the long shaft. Both ways, he’s trying for milk.

Jeralt mumbles something in his sleep, and fidgets a little without making any real attempt to move. Byleth waits it out. He’s probably just dreaming, or... whatever one does passed out from drink.

A sudden bitterness pervades his mouth, thick in smell and taste, both one and the same so bitter and salty he almost backs off. He realizes almost instantaneously that if his father is having a dream, it’s of using the restroom (caused by his wet mouth, hopefully—surely father wouldn’t wet himself on his own) and what else can he do? He’s already here to dispose of it, so...

His face burns dully with shame as he swallows to the best of his ability. Some dribbles down his chin but he thinks he’s doing pretty well for a surprise attack. And there’s so much! Gush after gush hits his tongue or the back of his throat, still with the same distinctly yellow taste. It isn’t something he’d do on his own, but somehow the fact of his noncompliance makes him even more fluttery in his gut.

It finally comes to a sad end, with just a few weak little dribbles squeezing past his lips. He wipes off around his mouth with a mental note to wash his hands later. The entire inside of his mouth even feels yellow. It reminds him of popcorn that’s too buttery.

After he's made himself as neat as possible, he goes back to suckling his father's cock, all around the head to clean off any last remnants of urine. His grip alternates back and forth to help tighten or loosen the foreskin as desired so his tongue can pass under it as well. But now with the urge to void its bladder gone, father's body responds more to his mouth. The flesh of his cock fills with a spongey hardness and the texture of the veins becomes even more prominent.

He wishes he could whimper to him, tell him filthy things about how hot his cock feels, how it's too big for his hands and his jaw is starting to ache, how he wants to ride it--damn does he wish--but is forced to satisfy himself with a running narration in his head.

A different, more pleasant salty taste starts to fill his mouth, and he can't help but give himself a quick squeeze between the legs. This proves it. He's not just a good toilet for father's cock, but capable of exciting it too. He's skilled enough even as a virgin to get him dripping his pre-come into his mouth! It proves he has a potential place here between his father's legs, taking his cock, how long has it been for him anyway, since the death of his wife? He has never known him to have a lover so he's been pent-up all this time, waiting, maybe, waiting on his son who takes so much after his wife to grow up--

Byleth chokes down a grunt when his mouth overflows. It really must have been a long time, huh? Even he can manage longer than this by himself. But it's easier than drinking his urine had been. Tastes better, for one thing, and isn't an uninterrupted shower of it. Yes, his throat relaxes nicely into a good rhythm for it. Squirt after squirt after squirt, as father keeps snoring away, obliviously filling and warming his son's guts with his seed.

What he'd give for him not to be.

He sucks very gently once it's done, repeating the cleaning process. His belly feels like he just had a bowl of soup. So toasty. For a moment he rests his head on his thigh and feels so sleepy and happy he could just doze off. If he laced father back in, he'd never even know what had happened. It's not to be, though; the pressure in his pants, and his emotional exhultation, are too great to ignore. To put it simply, he wants to go back to his own tent and jerk it while the mood is fresh.

So, the good son until the end, he places him back in his pants with all due tenderness, and kisses the resulting bulge that he just knows is going to haunt him from now until the end of time now that he's gotten a taste of it. He pulls his blanket back down over his legs and gives him a final once-over. Like nothing happened. Only possibly, maybe, a little pinker in the face.

He leaves calmly, walks calmly, so it doesn't feel like a retreat. Looking at the few people around him on duty helps. The sight of them dulls the fevor of emotion he felt for his father. In his whole life no one else has ever touched his heart.

So of course he ended up like this, overly loving his own father, he tells himself as he slips into the privacy of his bed roll with his hands slipping beneath his clothes. He never had a chance for anything else.

It's still his father, _Jeralt_, he thinks of and in his head, when they finally understand each other, that is what he calls him in their secret wedding bed. His cock jumps at the thought and as he pumps himself he says it just once, to hear the sound of his father's name from his own lips. The sound of his fist gets a little too wet and loud for comfort but he can't stop. It's what love for his father has inspired him to.

He buries his face into the pillow to muffle a groan. Even his ejaculation audibly splatters into his hand. It's the best thing he's ever felt, this all-encompassing sensation that sparks through every muscle he has. Even his upper lip goes numb from the pressure. Then, like a fever, it leaves him trembling, sweaty, warm then cold.

But it is love he feels as he finally curls up tight for the night, full of the only feeling he has truly known in his entire life.

**Author's Note:**

> *cheryl voice* I LOVE MY DADDY


End file.
